


Clouds Like White Elephants

by texadian



Series: A Tad Unconventional [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Goofy - Freeform, One Shot Collection, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texadian/pseuds/texadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Sherlock bicker about cloud watching and a checkered white and brown dish cloth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds Like White Elephants

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "Hills Like White Elephants", but plays no role in plot. Because there is no plot. It's ridiculous fluff. Enjoy.

“Cirrus,” she says from behind him, before turning away without a second thought.   
  
He replies without looking and questions no one in particular. “Hmm?”  
  
Molly is over in the kitchen rinsing the tea pot from earlier and looks up with interest. His eyes have left the window and fallen upon her, intently.   
  
“Serious, Molly?”  
  
“Am I serious about what?” She sets the pot down and goes to collect the mugs by his chair.   
  
“You walked by, just a second ago, and told me you were.”  
  
“That I was serious?” It takes her a moment to think back, before her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth opens slightly into an ‘o’. “I said cirrus, not serious. The clouds you’ve been watching. The high ones up there.”  
  
He begins to turn away, unimpressed, when she rounds the corner of the sofa and stops him in his path.   
  
“I know you’d never bother to store information like such, but no harm, no foul, eh?”  
  
Sherlock goes to speak, his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth when he hesitates. His eyes linger on Molly, twisting the ratty dish towel from his kitchen in her hands, then glances over to the window where he’d been earlier.   
  
“I could, actually, know a thing or two about clouds,” he says, trying not to sound too offended. “But I wasn’t watching them, just now. I was thinking.”  
  
“Sure it wasn’t both?” She grins, watching as his face contorts into a frown. “The Sherlock Holmes, cloud watching. The press would have a field day!” she erupts in fake astonishment.   
  
“Molly-”  
  
“Mm?” She interjects, tossing the towel towards him.   
  
He isn’t about stoop to her level, so he pays her no attention as the rag, mildly damp, flops against his suit jacket, sticks for a second, then drops to the floor.   
  
“Molly-” he tries again.   
  
“You could have at least caught it,” she comments, eyes falling upon the dejected dish towel.   
  
She waits for him to pick it up so she can at least get back to cleaning their dishes, when he steps over it and walks back to his window.   
  
“I’ll be thinking over here,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice.   
  
He clasps his hands behind his back once more and sighs. The world below is dull and busy. And straight ahead his neighbours have drawn their blinds so all he sees is the weathered brick work of 224. It’ll have to do though, as Sherlock Holmes is no cloud watcher.   
  
“Just thinking,” he mutters to himself. “Just- Hey!”  
  
He turns sharply around and with quick reflexes, catches the dish towel mid toss. Like a piece of evidence, he holds the incriminating white and brown checkered cloth beside him in the air.   
  
Molly is all smiles, lips upturned like the Grinch after stealing all of Whoville’s Christmas decorations.   
  
“I’d expect this from Anderson, maybe, but you Molly.” He tuts, much like Mrs. Hudson, and sets the cloth down on the side table.   
  
“Fine,” Molly replies after a few minutes. “I’ll let you get back to your clouds,” she pesters, though the humour is gone.  
  
“Thanks,” he replies sarcastically.   
  
“Let me know if you see any that look likes bunnies, too.”  
  
She lets out a breathy laugh and sits down in John’s old chair to look through the cases they’d finished that day. There’s only two emails left to reply to when the top half of her screen is blocked from her view.   
  
“Sherlock!” She snatches the towel slung over her laptop and shakes it wildly in the air.  
  
“Yes?” he feigns innocence, hiding a smirk.   
  
Molly’s eyes narrow as she begins to roll the towel into a little ball. Sherlock doesn’t seemed fazed, but watches with diligence.   
  
Her arm waits, hovering, stretched back like a pitcher with its target just below a mop of curls. In one fatal swoop though, she ditches the towel and grabs hold of a large throw pillow from the floor.   
  
It’s red with tassels and Sherlock has no idea how it got into his flat, but that doesn’t matter. Beside him, his violin and sheet music are set up neatly and a stack of books with specific pages flipped to, lay in front.   
  
The repercussions of an off target throw are too risky, so Sherlock turns to the window and looks up, pointing at the sky, “Oh look, some cumulonimbus. I think that one might even look like an elephant!”


End file.
